


unchained melody

by odeion



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood and Injury, Friendship/Love, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23230693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odeion/pseuds/odeion
Summary: Sometime during a zombie endemic Yeosang and Seonghwa planned a grocery hunt. You can imagine how that went over.
Relationships: Kang Yeosang/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	unchained melody

⸙

 _“Rule Number One: Be Quick._ ”

Given the fact that on their last food hunt San forgot his pink switchblade in the temporomandibular joint of an unfortunate cashier who tried to munch on Yunho’s bare forearm and the heroic action saved them some time (and taught Yunho, the most effective way possible, not to go out in a tank top ever again), Yeosang knew it caused them shortage on weaponry, something he tried to avoid as long as he could. And yet, here they were.

Normally he would have mourned the loss of the blade, but he didn’t have time for that. The group used up the last portion of canned food two days ago (he couldn’t recall what they had, but he knew it wasn’t anything nutritious) and Hongjoong was in dire need of antibiotics.

Yeosang had no other choice.

They waited until dawn, until the gentle rain filled the concrete gaps, creating a wet path to the nearest shopping quarter. Jongho was scanning the street from the balcony and while Seonghwa took the military bag and swung it around his broad shoulders like an old-fashioned baby wrap, Yeosang was putting on an extra layer of flannel shirts twice his size. Now his arms were covered with thick wool, a poor attempt to hide his vulnerable body parts, but hopefully enough protection for an armed person.

Seonghwa finished securing his shoelaces (always with a double knot) and straightened his back. His right arm was tightly bundled with rolled newspaper, the shiny top cover flashed a supermodel peeking behind four layers of duct tape; the other was held out, offering Yeosang an old rifle with a tiny sack of ammo and an even smaller smirk. Judging by the smell of chlorine someone made an extra effort to rub its stock clean, but all the chemicals in the world wouldn’t be enough to wash the mixture of blood and liquor out of wood.

Still, Yeosang appreciated the gesture.

⸙

 _“Rule Number Two: Make No Noise._ ”

Journeys to the mall area weren't long, depending on how many times they had to stop and hide behind open car doors and rubbish bins until whatever or whoever they stumbled upon passed them by. The problems started after their bags were full, carrying more than they were physically capable of or worse: their bags were empty and bitter defeat weighed their shoulders down. From their previous attempts (a total of three times) it only happened once but Yeosang couldn’t forget the frown on the other’s faces when he and Yunho arrived home, empty handed. They hadn’t had a proper meal for days around that time.

The deepening hollow of Jongho’s once full cheeks.

The ghost of Hongjoong’s right and the open wound it left behind the leader tried to hide vehemently.

The once mischievous crinkles around Mingi’s eyes that somehow morphed into dark shadows day by day.

Once they stepped outside, away from their friends and Yeosang looked at Seonghwa’s face stained with deep, soul-wrenching concern, he knew they both were thinking of the same thing: they couldn’t afford to fail this mission or the others will suffer the consequences.

With Yeosang’s speed and Seonghwa’s lighter weight they made it to main street without difficulties. The path they choose was the same one Yeosang took every single day from home to school, school to work then home again. The café on their right (which owner had a grumpy, one-eyed tabby cat), the small boutique across the old chapel that sold ABBA shirts and cheap jewelry, the mint-colored ice cream truck; they belonged to his life before the endemic. They were emptied by now, broken windows and doors wide open — dirty mouths and empty bellies.

Walking on the soaked concrete under the warm street lights has woken a false homey-feeling in Yeosang’s heart. He thought of and how things would have turned out if they’d have happened differently.

If he’d gathered enough courage to ask Seonghwa out on that rainy day they walked down the exact same street to buy samgak kimbap from the nearest convenient store.

If the president wasn’t shot live broadcast the same day San and Wooyoung graduated and the whole group was supposed to celebrate at their favourite ramyeon place.

If they wouldn’t have lived in the heart of the outbreak around the time it happened.

“Forcing yourself to think about everything that could have been in the past won’t make the present brighter, you know.” That’s what Hongjoong said with a tired smile that didn’t reach his eyes at all. (There were times when he tried to hide behind a façade for the sake of the others, but he couldn't fool anyone; they all saw how his strength got thinner and thinner with every passing day.)

He remembered sitting on the cold parquet covered with sleeping bags and pillows in various shapes and colors with Hongjoong’s baby blue blanket wrapped tightly around his torso, his cold fingers smoothing Yeosang’s messy tufts while he was bawling his eyes out. Yeosang remembered his chest being so tight he thought he'd suffocate. And how Hongjoong kept on talking, babbling about the night they’ve met and made pancakes at Yunho's because his parents had the biggest kitchen from all of them and how awkward everyone was at first because of their age gaps and different backgrounds.  


He continued retelling the old stories until Yeosang cried all his tears and let the other’s murmur lull him to sleep.

According to the calendar it’s been forty-five days since the outbreak.

Forty days since the official public announcement: violently spreading viral infection that attacked the central nervous system. Remedy is unknown. Please stay away from the following areas. (Then listing the inhabited districts. All of them.)

(The broadcast ended shortly after, without even mentioning the word ‘zombie’, not once.)

Two weeks since he talked to his family through an antsy phone line and learned his mother had died shortly after the outbreak. His father, that cold, sturdy man sounded relieved while gulping his tears back and Yeosang couldn’t bring himself to blame him. Guilt was sticking his tongue to the roof of his mouth long after he hung up; he realized he felt the same.

Two days since the sirens went mute and the world has officially given up on them, lurking in the background like a silent predator, waiting patiently for their fall.

A month since the conversation with Hongjoong. Only a month. In Yeosang’s mind the memory seemed more distant, as if it wasn’t really his in the first place. He never stopped thinking about the leader’s words, nor the oily scent of freshly made ramyeon they never got to eat, nor the gentle glint in Seonghwa’s eyes the day he held him under those yellow lights, arms heavy with plastic bags full of take-out.

Something cold and slippery touched Yeosang’s palm, sending a grain of terror to his heart. But it was just Seonghwa; he grabbed his hand fiercely, long fingers wrapping around his tightly. “Are you crazy,” Yeosang mouthed, but Seonghwa only made a face, not daring to break their silence. His skin felt rough against Yeosang’s, the familiar touch calming his ruffled nerves somehow. Though the streets seemed completely deserted, he could never be sure.

He huffed, quiet as a mouse and gave the other’s hand a firm squeeze. In that moment and place Yeosang saw crystal clear what they could have been, if not for this goddamn bitch of an unsatisfactory situation.

Hongjoong was right. It didn’t make any difference now, nor made it less mournful.

It was nearly dark now, the lack of natural light was advantageous; but only after they reached the mall and Seonghwa pushed him through the automatic doors (still magically working), only then could Yeosang let out the breath he didn’t realized he was holding.

⸙

 _“Rule Number Three: Leave No One Behind._ ”

Fingers circling around the trigger of the old Mondragón, careful eyes scanning the pasta aisle, not missing the back of the other’s head for a moment.

The air filled with noises that weren’t fitting for a tiny mall down the street: eerie bird chirping, claws pit-patting on top of vinyl, rain water splashing and pooling in dirty puddles on the white tiles.

When they got inside and passed the cash registers, Yeosang saw the large front windows, a few of their glasses shot to smithereens, giving them another quick exit route. He made a mental note, though the information didn’t seem to calm the tiny, nervous fishes that were dancing in the pit of his stomach since they left the house.

The aisles were nearly empty, the whiteness of the place undisturbed. A few days ago Yeosang sat by the window, sipping on a tiny cup of black coffee, watching people running down the street to the corner store, erratic to get their hands on food and basic necessities like toilet paper or meat, leaving only a few stray cans of mushroom and and an entire carton of cheap soda behind. He knew because they visited the store themselves a few days later, there was no point of trying there anymore.

The trip around their neighborhood area required supplies and someone the others could spare, both difficult to get his hands on. But he didn’t have a choice.

He decided to bring Seonghwa this time, being the least noisy and most reliable member after the leader. The last time they all went out a cell phone started ringing and Hongjoong lost an arm.

Yeosang didn’t want to repeat the incident again.

Static noise. Seonghwa’s shriek, loud and high-pitched like a tea kettle going off. Movement, away from Yeosang’s field of vision. And stillness.  


Stillness stretching wall to wall. Not knowing what to do, Yeosang stood there with blood drumming loud in his ears, the rifle hanging low in his arms. Something was wrong.

He was naïve enough to believe they can get away with this, up until the moment that damn song started blasting through the speakers.

_Oh, my love  
My darling  
I've hungered for your touch  
A long, lonely time._

“What the —“ The rest of the curse words stuck in his throat because then Seonghwa appeared at the end of the aisle with the military bag (loaded fully as far as Yeosang could see) secured on his back. He bent double until he saw Yeosang.  


Yeosang stood there, squinting.

_And time goes by so slowly  
And time can do so much  
Are you still mine?_

When their eyes met, Seonghwa opened his mouth to say something (to yell?), but as if he was watching a muted TV screen, The Righteous Brothers were damping everything else around them and Yeosang missed the warning. And the muffled grunts and slurping wet noises from behind the aisles nearby. He let the other wander off way too far.

_Lonely rivers flow to the sea, to the sea  
To the open arms of the sea  
Yes, lonely rivers sigh, "Wait for me, wait for me  
I'll be coming home, wait for me"_

Only when he saw the horde of figures, crawling forward from both directions, some of them looking like people, many of them not at all. Only then he realized that Seonghwa was already running.

_Oh, my love  
My darling_

Yeosang blinked and as if waking from a dream, he turned around. Slowly, legs made of gummy worms, heart sunken low in his belly.

A flash of a memory, vivid as the immaculate tiles under his dirty boots or the heavy rifle in his hands; the gang having a gathering at Yeosang’s, drinking and playing board games and deciding to make a mall trip in the middle of the night. A different mall, but it was the same; the long aisles, the same off-brand beauty magazines and bottles of carrot juice Jongho liked so much. Hongjoong talking with “bread boy” Mingi, akimbo with a long shopping list in his hand, discussing the difference between the same two bagels. Wooyoung pushing the empty cart, then losing control and crashing into a tower of canned beans when San decided to hop in. Him and Seonghwa racing to get their hands on snacks before the others (which meant Yeosang taking a running start while Seonghwa was strolling behind him like an excited puppy).

 _And time goes by so slowly_  
And time can do so much  
Are you still mine?

The warmth of that day has already faded, but the muscle memory didn’t.

Yeosang decided.

He began to run. Only this time, for his life.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt to get back to writing. Excuse my errors.  
> Big thanks to The Righteous Brothers for the title song and Yas for her kind words. ♡ 
> 
> [my cc](https://curiouscat.me/odeion)  
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/parselmunde)  
> 


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